She saw him. Andrew sprinted across the parking lot, heart hammering, but the SUV had already reached the intersection. It paused—just for a second—then turned left and disappeared around the corner.
Andrew ran for his car, an aging hatchback parked half a block away. He fumbled the keys out of his apron pocket and yanked the door open. “Come on, come on,” he muttered, jamming the key into the ignition. The dashboard lights flickered. The engine sputtered. Coughed.
Nothing. He tried again. His hands were slick with sweat now. The engine clicked once, then went silent. “Not now!” He pounded the steering wheel. Took a breath. Tried again. The engine finally turned over with a groan and a shudder, like the car itself was reluctant to get involved.
Andrew threw it into reverse, then drive, tires chirping as he pulled onto the street. He turned left at the intersection and scanned ahead. There—up ahead, three blocks down. The black SUV. He floored it.